“Louder. I’m chewing peanuts over here.”
Glaring at him, I inhaled deeply and forced out the words again. Saint turned to me and nodded like I’d announced my favorite color or something as trivial.
“Now say it with me looking at you.”
“I can barely say anything while looking at you.”
Saint lifted an eyebrow as if surprised by my confession. He was full of crap. No doubt most people had trouble looking him in the eye. The guy exuded arrogance and barely chained aggression.
“If you want to hear my story, you need to say it.”
Pursing my lips, I asked, “How good is your story?”
“Epic. It’ll give you a deep insight into my amazing history of being amazing.”
Grinning, I rolled my eyes. “Fine.”
Saint lost his smirk and stared softly into my eyes. He waited for me to work up the nerve to own the ugly word I avoided for years. His patience gave me strength and I held his gaze while saying them.
“I was raped.”
Saint showed no reaction before reaching for his bottle of water.
“My parents are the religious sort. Growing up, I had a cushy life, but we always helped those less fortunate. So after high school, when my friends were partying in college, I decided to do missionary work with our church.”
Saint sat on an old branch and shoved the bottle into his bag. I didn’t move, afraid he might stop talking.
“I was in Mexico for six months, digging irrigation, helping the local doctors, and other odd jobs. Even with no specific skills, I kept busy. The first week of the seventh month, I was arrested with a few local guys and jailed on possession of cocaine. It was bullshit, of course. Knowing I was an American, the cops figured my parents might pay for my freedom. In jail, they started calling me Saint. It was supposed to be an insult, as if I’d been dumb to travel to Mexico to help people. Anyway, that’s how I got the name.”
Frowning, I stepped closer. “How long were you in there before your parents paid for your freedom?”
Saint grinned at me. “What do I get for telling you that?”
“What do you want?”
Standing up, Saint glanced around then back at me. “I’m only in town for a week, maybe two. I can stay longer if I want, but small towns bug me. So since I’m only around for a while and you need a lot of training, I want you to move into my place.”
“No way,” I said, panicking and backing away from him.
Saint grinned. “You’re really obsessed with getting me naked. It’s not healthy.”
I opened my mouth to tell him to stick his comment up his ass. Restraining myself, I studied him. “What would I do at your place?”
“You get up in the morning and train with me. In the evening, we train again. Most of all, you face your biggest fear. A hot guy you want inside you.”
“You’re a pig.”
“No. I’m really not,” he said casually. “You’re simply scared, but you need to face those fears. Soon, you’ll see how past your walls is a world of possibilities.”
“No sex, right?”
Saint grinned then started walking up the embankment. “Sorry to disappoint, but I only have sex on my birthday and I was born in August.”
“Why only on your birthday?” I asked, hurrying to catch up.
“You keep asking questions, but never give me anything in return. I’m starting to feel used.”
Rolling my eyes again, I still laughed at his expression. “Where would I sleep at your place?”
“In my bed.”
“Why not on the couch?”
“You won’t be scared on the couch. In my bed, you’ll realize you have nothing to be afraid of. Of course, my birthday thing will help you keep from freaking out.”
My brain raced at the thought of sleeping next to this sexy bastard. “I feel like this is a con.”
Saint started walking faster and I really pushed myself to keep up.
“You live a very normal life here. It’s why everything I say must be shoved past your preconceptions of how the world works. I’m not like the boys you know, Harlow.”
Shivering at the sound of my name, I smiled. “You’re special, huh?”
“Why not?” he asked, breaking into a run.
“Crap.”
I struggled to keep pace with Saint. Just when I reached a few step behind him, he swung at me with a branch he’d ripped from a tree as we ran. Even ducking in time, I lost my balance and twisted my knee while falling on my ass.
Saint was halfway up the incline before realizing I was on the ground. He didn’t run back down though. More like a steady jog. I suspected he thought I was faking.
“Are you faking it?” he asked, standing over me.
I couldn’t believe how well I’d read him. “I twisted my bad knee.”
“You’re too young to have a bad knee.”
I glared hard at him. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“Let me guess. You twisted your knee in a skiing accident.”
“I’ve never gone skiing,” I said as he helped me up. “Why skiing?”
“You look like the kind of woman who skis.”